Echoes of the Past
by dustnik
Summary: Set in 1925 with flashbacks to 1920. Thomas survives an earlier suicide attempt, being saved by a most unexpected person.
1. Chapter 1

** 1925 **

Thomas Barrow drifted slowly into consciousness. His eyelids flickered open for a moment, only to snap shut again when the effort proved too much. He heard the sounds of muffled voices from somewhere nearby but couldn't make out what they were saying. His thoughts were a jumbled mess. He knew he was in his bed, but he had no idea how he came to be there. What was the last thing he remembered? He had encountered Anna and Miss Baxter upstairs in the servants' quarters, but that was before (before what?). He shifted slightly, causing his wrists to voice an objection. His mind kept seeing visions of vivid red, but he didn't know what it meant. Once more he slept.

The next time he awoke, Miss Baxter was perched on a little chair beside him. Why was she there? Mrs. Hughes wouldn't approve of her being on the men's side, not that she had much to fear from him. "Mr. Barrow?" the lady's maid called. "Can you hear me?"

Thomas managed a slight nod, but it was enough to bring a smile to the woman's face.

"Dr. Clarkson said you're going to be alright. We found you in time."

 _In time for what?_ he wondered. And what did Clarkson have to do with it? His eyes caught sight of his wrists, wrapped tightly in clean, white bandages, sticking out from the sleeves of his pajamas.

"I'll bring you some tea." Baxter rose and made her way to the door. She turned and fixed him with a look of concern. "Will you be alright while I'm gone?"

He didn't think he could get into too much trouble lying in his bed but couldn't find the energy to say so. He simply nodded again.

"I won't be long."

Thomas struggled hard to remember, but the more he tried, the further away the memory seemed to slip. Sunlight streamed through the windows of his little attic room. He should be on duty now unless he was ill. But he didn't feel ill, just very weak and terribly tired.

There was a knock on the open bedroom door, and Andy shuffled in. "How are you feeling, Mr. Barrow?"

Thomas noticed that the lad seemed unwilling to look at him, keeping his eyes carefully lowered to the floor. "What am I doing here?" the underbutler asked him.

"What do you mean?" Andy was staring at the ceiling now.

"What's happened?"

The young man backed slowly toward the doorway appearing extremely uncomfortable. "I have to go now. Mr. Carson will be looking for me."

"Andy?"

"Just rest, Mr. Barrow." And with that, he was gone.

Miss Baxter soon returned carrying a tray containing a tea service and a small plate of toast. She helped him into a sitting position. The exertion made him feel light-headed and dizzy, and he was afraid he might vomit or even faint. When he was settled, she placed the tray on his lap and poured him a cup. He raised it to his lips with a shaking hand and took a small sip. "What happened to me?" he inquired.

She seemed surprised. "You don't remember?"

He shook his head.

"Never mind. It can wait until you're feeling stronger."

"No. Tell me now," he insisted.

Baxter made a decision. "You cut your wrists. Andy and I found you bleeding out in the bath. Dr. Clarkson stitched you up here, so the police wouldn't find out."

Thomas finished his tea, and the lady's maid quickly poured him another cup. "Try to eat too," she urged.

"Does everybody know?"

"The family has been told, of course. Downstairs it's just Andy and me, Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, and Mrs. Bates. The others all think you have the flu."

"Anna?"

"She went to fetch the doctor. We couldn't trust news like this to the telephone."

He was feeling sick as the enormity of his actions began to sink in. "I think I need to sleep now."

Baxter removed the tray but made no sign of leaving. Thomas found her quiet presence comforting and soon fell into a deep slumber.

When he awoke again, the room was dark, and he was alone. He switched on the lamp beside his bed, wincing at the pinch of the sutures. The clock on his night table said it was nearly nine. The staff members would be sitting down to their supper about now. He was feeling hungry and wondered if he should join them, but the thought of getting dressed and descending the four flights of stairs to the servants' hall was overwhelming. He wasn't sure he would even be welcome after what he'd done.

The sleep had cleared away the cobwebs from his mind, and he remembered everything. He recalled taking his razor into the bathroom with him that afternoon and filling the tub with water. After removing his shoes and socks and stripping down to his vest, he lowered himself into the warm bath. He began by tracing shallow slits in his wrists, continuing to slice deeper and deeper slashes in the pale skin. He was barely aware of what he was doing until the bath water turned pink first, then red. He watched in fascination as the rivulets of blood ran down his arms until nothing else seemed quite real. The pain and rejection of the world slowly faded away, leaving him with an oddly peaceful sensation before he finally slipped into unconsciousness.

Thomas heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor outside his room, and Miss Baxter appeared once more with a tray. "The sleep did you good. You've got a bit of color," she told him.

He raised himself into a sitting position again, ignoring the shooting pain in his arms, and she placed the tray on his lap. She studied him while he ate as if he were a puzzle to be solved. "I'm not sure why I did it," he replied to her unspoken question.

"I know how discouraged you've been about not finding another job."

"It wasn't that—at least it wasn't only that."

"You must have been terribly unhappy."

"Yes," he admitted. "I've been unhappy for a very long time."

"Is it because the treatment last year didn't work?"

Thomas was ashamed and angry at having fallen prey to such an obvious hoax. He knew his depression had begun long before that, but he didn't want to talk about it. He set down his knife and fork and pushed the tray away.

The lady's maid seemed to understand. "You don't have to tell me now if you don't want to, but I hope you know I'm always here for you." She collected the tray. "Do you need anything else, Mr. Barrow?"

"No, thank you."

Her kind face looked troubled. "Will you be alright? You won't—"

"No."

"I can stay with you tonight if you like. I don't think anyone would mind."

"That's not necessary." Thomas managed a sickly smile meant to reassure her.

She gave in reluctantly. "Well, good night then."

"Goodnight, Miss Baxter."

As she reached the door, she turned to him once more. "Are you glad you were saved?"

"I'm not sure yet," he answered honestly.

When she was gone, he switched off the lamp and lowered himself down in his bed again. What had he done? Everyone already thought him a thief and a deviant. Now they could add loony to the list, and he wouldn't blame them. Why had he done it? Thomas knew it was more than losing his place at Downton Abbey. That was just the final straw. He supposed he simply couldn't see a future for himself, not one that he wanted to be a part of anyway. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He would need all his strength to face the morning.

* * *

The Bateses were relaxing together in the sitting room of their little cottage. Anna had been distracted since tea time, a condition that hadn't gone unnoticed by her attentive husband. "You're very quiet. Is there something on your mind?" he asked her.

"I was just thinking about Mr. Barrow. I hope he'll be alright."

Bates was taken aback by that. "It's only the flu, which doesn't sound too serious."

Anna didn't speak for a moment. "If I tell you something, you must promise to keep it to yourself."

He waited in silence for her to continue.

"Mr. Barrow doesn't have the flu. Mr. Carson only said that to explain why he has to stay in bed." She paused before adding, "He cut his wrists this afternoon."

"What?" the valet exclaimed in horror.

"Miss Baxter and Andy found him unconscious in the bath. Mrs. Hughes helped them put him to bed while I ran for the doctor."

Bates sat back in his chair wearing an expression of shocked disbelief.


	2. Chapter 2

**1920 **

Thomas stood alone in the nighttime, wisps of smoke from his cigarette curling all around him. How had it come to this? He knew the answer, of course. It was Miss O'Brien's doing, all of it. He knew she was lying when she said Jimmy was interested in him. He knew it but pushed it out of his mind because he wanted so desperately for it to be true. He would never forget the look of anger and disgust on Jimmy's face when the footman awoke to find Thomas hovering over him in his bed. The truth was Jimmy had never cared for him, not like that. It had been O'Brien all along. And now he was leaving Downton in disgrace without a reference and no way to find other work.

As he often did, Thomas found himself outside a nearby row of tradesmen's cottages. From the windows, the light of the gas lamps created a warm glow that spoke of home and family. He wondered what it would be like to be on the inside for once instead of always on the outside looking in, to feel there was somewhere he belonged. But he knew that would never happen, not for a man like him. In the moonlight, he spotted the familiar, limping figure of John Bates approaching. Stepping out of the shadows, he called to him mockingly, "Inspecting the love nest?"

"Just fetching some coal," the valet replied warily.

"I envy you."

"Whatever you say," Bates said, sounding bored now.

"No, I mean it. The happy couple and everyone's so pleased for you. I can't imagine what that's like."

"Perhaps you should try being nicer."

"It's being nice that got me into trouble," Thomas replied cryptically.

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind. I'll be gone soon and out of your hair. You'll be glad of that."

"Yes, I will."

With that, the younger man ground out his cigarette and disappeared into the night.

* * *

Long after the others had turned in, Thomas remained in the servants' hall sitting in his favorite rocking chair. At last, he rose and switched off the lights, trudging slowly up the dark, creaky stairs to the attic. He paused when he came to Jimmy's door, picturing the sleeping footman inside. With a sigh, he continued on. It wouldn't do to be caught lurking outside Jimmy's room at night.

After a quick wash, he settled into bed, still trying to find a way out of the mess he was in. He knew it was futile. Without a reference, he would never work in England again. He thought briefly of returning to Manchester until he could come up with a plan for his future (what future?), but he knew he wouldn't be welcomed by his family. The truth was he had no one to turn to and nowhere to go. Thomas rolled over to face the wall and allowed the tears to fall freely. What was to become of him?

* * *

The talk at breakfast the next morning was centered on the upcoming cricket match with the village. Mr. Carson was enthusiastically tallying up the house players, while Bates volunteered to keep score. Barrow sat meekly at the far end of the table with the hallboys. When Ivy asked if he'd be playing, he mumbled that he thought he'd be gone by then.

"Yes, you will," Jimmy agreed quickly, causing Thomas to cringe.

Bates suspected that Thomas had feelings for Jimmy and was probably nursing a broken heart on top of everything else. He then turned to catch Miss O'Brien smirking beside him. He sensed that she was behind whatever was going on.

The situation continued to trouble him, and that evening he broached the subject with Mrs. Hughes. She recounted how two nights earlier she had found Thomas in tears, crouched outside in the rain. She had brought him in, and over a cup of tea, he'd blurted out the whole sorry tale. When she finished repeating the story to Bates, he said, "Now I understand." He didn't know Jimmy Kent well, having been in prison when the footman arrived, but the lad struck him much as Mrs. Hughes described, a vain and silly flirt.

He had known other men like Thomas: in the army, in service, and in prison. He bore them no ill will and felt only mild pity for them, but he saw that Mr. Carson's hands were tied in the matter. It wouldn't help to put Barrow in prison. Bates wouldn't wish that on anyone, not even his old nemesis. Whatever sins Thomas had committed in the past, he didn't deserve what was happening to him now.

The next day, he was winding his way down the servants' staircase after bringing up a stack of His Lordship's shirts from the laundry. It felt good to get back to work, to be busy and useful again. He paused upon hearing another set of footsteps approaching and soon spied the dark head of Thomas Barrow climbing up. The younger man held something in his hand and seemed somewhat startled to see him. "What have you got there?" Bates asked, just for something to say.

"It's nothing."

"It looks like a fair length of rope. What are you doing with it?"

"Well, I'm not stealing it if that's what you're worried about." Without waiting for a reply, Thomas continued up the stairs, leaving Bates staring curiously after him.

The valet reached the basement and knocked softly on Mr. Carson's open pantry door. Carson waved him inside, and the two men entered into casual conversation. John was searching for a way to bring up the subject of Thomas when Jimmy Kent joined them and raised the matter himself. "When is Mr. Barrow leaving?"

"I'm not sure," Carson replied coolly.

"He's lost his job. Why can't he just go? I find it very awkward."

Bates bristled at that. "He made a mistake. You're still in one piece. Why do you have to be such a big girl's blouse about it?"

That only seemed to anger Jimmy. He turned back to the butler. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carson, but I won't change my mind."

* * *

That night after everyone else was asleep, Thomas remained awake, perched on the side of his bed. In his hands was the rope he had purchased earlier which he had managed to fashion into a makeshift noose. He wondered if he should leave a note; he'd heard that some people did. But what would he say, and to whom would he address it? His father had made it clear a long time ago that Thomas was already dead to him, and he hadn't seen his sister in years. Certainly, no one at the Abbey would mourn his passing, and he didn't blame them really. What was it Mr. Carson had called him? _Foul._ He positioned a little chair in the corner of the room and tossed the noose over an exposed beam. He then attached the end of the rope securely to a heavy piece of furniture. Stepping up onto the chair, he slipped the loop around his neck.

* * *

At the Bateses' cottage, John recounted his previous evening's discussion with Mrs. Hughes to Anna over a cup of tea. "I can't get it out of my mind."

"I don't understand why you're letting it bother you. You don't even like Thomas."

"No, I don't."

"Then why—"

"I don't know," Bates answered quickly with more feeling than he intended. He was a man of few words and often struggled to express his emotions. "Have you noticed how down he's become? He's given up. Yes, what he did was wrong, but he doesn't deserve to have his entire life ruined because of one kiss." He added, "I feel sorry for him."

"Sorry for Thomas? After everything he's done to you?"

"He's all alone in this. What would I have done in prison without you?"

Anna smiled at that.

"I suppose he must have loved Jimmy," Bates mused.

"Yes, I suppose he must have, and it's sad to think about," his wife agreed. She rose to her feet. "Well, I'm off to bed. Are you coming?"

"Not just yet."

"Don't stay up too late." She gave him a quick kiss before setting her cup and saucer in the sink.

He continued to mull over the day's events. There must be a way to convince Jimmy to allow Thomas to have a reference when he left. Without it, he'd never work again. His choice would be between a life of crime or the workhouse. Bates thought back to their strange encounter on the stairs earlier and experienced a sudden chill. "Oh, my God!" He grabbed his cane and hurried out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**1920 (Continued) **

Thomas wondered absently if dying would hurt but knew the pain would be over quickly, or so he hoped anyway. He thought about saying a prayer first and decided against it. God didn't hear the prayers of men like him. After tightening the noose snugly around his neck, he began rocking the chair beneath his feet. With a final kick, he sent it clattering to the floor. He was immediately aware of a tremendous pressure on his throat which cut off his airway. He soon began to lose consciousness and didn't hear the sound of his door being thrown open. Suddenly there was a powerful arm around his legs holding him up, and the chair was put upright for him to stand on. "Don't move," a man's voice ordered. The rope went slack as the person untied the other end before finally closing the door.

Thomas was coughing and gasping for air as he slipped off the noose. There was an angry, red welt starting around his throat as he lowered himself unsteadily to the floor. He turned to face his rescuer and burst into tears. "You should have let me go." He dropped down on his bed, his head in his hands, and wept bitterly. After several minutes, the sobs began to subside, and he looked up to see John Bates staring pityingly down at him with the rope in one hand and his cane in the other. The sight made Thomas angry. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me."

"Thomas—"

"That's Mr. Barrow to you," he replied with as much dignity as he could muster under the circumstances. He laughed mirthlessly. "How you must be enjoying this."

Bates' expression didn't change. "Why did you do it?"

"Why ask? You don't care."

"It's true we've not been friends, but that doesn't mean I want you dead. So why did you do it?" he repeated.

"Why not? What have I got to live for?" Thomas answered despondently, rubbing his neck. "I've lost my job here, and without a reference, I won't be able to find another."

The valet nodded an understanding. "If this position hadn't come along when it did, I would have ended up in the workhouse."

"What?"

Bates fixed him with a look of irritation. "Who do you think wants a convicted thief working in their home? I thank God every day for my place at Downton Abbey." He then returned to his previous line of questioning. "Was that the only reason?"

"I'm tired of being alone." It was a painfully honest admission, but at that moment Thomas was incapable of dissembling.

"But you're not alone. You're surrounded by people who would care about you if you gave them a chance."

"Not someone like me. You see how they are."

"It might surprise you to learn that we all accepted your 'difference' long ago. Any problems you have with the people here have nothing to do with that and are all of your own doing."

Barrow felt uncomfortable and changed the subject. "How did you know what I was planning to do?"

"I had a feeling that something was terribly wrong. I guess it was seeing you with the rope earlier."

"How did you get in?"

"The back door was unlocked, but I would have woken the entire household if I needed to."

"Why?" Thomas was genuinely puzzled.

"Because I've been where you are. I know what it's like to feel hopeless. There were many times in prison when I considered taking my own life."

"What stopped you?"

"Anna."

Thomas looked down at the floor. "I don't have someone like that."

"What about Jimmy?"

Barrow was caught off guard. "I thought he—cared for me, but I was wrong." The tears were threatening to fall again. "He hates me now."

"He doesn't hate you. He's just afraid of what people will think of him. Give it time."

"But I don't _have_ time, do I?" Thomas reminded him. "I'll be leaving soon."

Bates moved toward the door. "I should get back to the cottage. Anna will be wondering where I am." He seemed uncertain about leaving Barrow alone. "Why don't you come home with me? You can sleep on the sofa, and we'll all walk back together in the morning."

Thomas was surprised by the offer but shook his head. "No, I'll be fine here."

"Well, you should know I've taken your razor. I'll give it back tomorrow if you're feeling calmer. You're not planning to throw yourself off the roof, are you?" Bates asked only half-jokingly.

The idea had never occurred to Thomas. He managed a weak grin. "And make all that mess for some poor sod to clean up?"

John chuckled at that.

"You won't tell anyone what I did—not even Anna," the younger man implored. "I couldn't stand the way they'd look at me."

"I'm not going to say a word, and we will find a way out of this. I promise." He turned and moved toward the door.

Thomas was curious. "Why are you helping me?"

Bates looked back and smiled. "Get some sleep, Mr. Barrow." And with that, he was gone.

* * *

The next day, John and Anna returned to the Abbey for breakfast. Thomas had told Alfred that he wouldn't be down. While dressing Lord Grantham, Bates related the situation with Jimmy to the Earl who was surprised but not unsympathetic. Then he continued up to the attic and rapped on Thomas' door. The man sitting on the bed that morning bore little resemblance to the one from the night before. He showed no sign of emotion now; his voice and facial expression were flat. John hated to see him so spiritless. "There must be something you know about Miss O'Brien that you can use against her?"

"You've heard of the phrase 'to know when you're beaten?' Well, I'm beaten, Mr. Bates. I'm well and truly beaten."

John was losing patience. "Then give me the weapon, and I'll do the work. What can I say that will make her change her mind?"

Thomas looked up, and Bates saw a tiny ray of hope growing in his eyes.

 _Her Ladyship's soap._ Later Bates whispered those three words into Miss O'Brien's ear. The strange turn of phrase meant nothing to him, but it seemed to do the trick. Jimmy withdrew his objection to Thomas being given a reference when he left, and everything now seemed set for the future. However, Lord Grantham was loath to part with the house's best cricketer and insisted that he be kept on in some capacity. So Thomas was appointed to the newly created position of underbutler, much to Bates' dismay, as Barrow now ranked above him.

* * *

Thomas settled quickly into his new job, determined to put his suicide attempt behind him, but he would often catch Bates studying him as if to detect some subtle sign that he was planning to try again. This irritated him until finally, he snapped, "I don't need a guardian angel, thank you." The fragile truce existing between the two men dissolved after that, and things soon reverted to the way they had always been. Barrow was angry rather than grateful knowing he owed his livelihood and indeed his very life to a man he had plotted against and set out to ruin. It made him feel both guilty and ashamed.

He told himself that everything was fine now, but deep down he knew it wasn't true. Despite his self-contained outward appearance, he remained lonely and isolated. He was still very much in love with Jimmy, but even a year later things remained awkward between them. It wasn't until Barrow saved him from a beating at the Thirsk fair that they managed to forge an uneasy friendship. It was enough, or so Thomas told himself. The years passed, and after being caught in bed with one of the guests, Jimmy was forced to leave Downton. Once again the underbutler was alone, and he found himself sliding deeper into depression.

Then one day while flicking through the _London_ magazine, he chanced upon an advertisement featuring a man and woman gazing longingly into each other's eyes. He didn't know why it caught his attention. Maybe it was the enigmatic headline, "Choose Your Own Path." As he began to read, his eyes grew bright with excitement. Was be possible? Could there really be a way to rid him of his homosexuality and make him like other men? He knew he needed to find out more and hurried off to telephone.


	4. Chapter 4

**1925 **

The next morning, Thomas was helped to the bathroom by the kind-hearted Andy. Their eyes immediately settled on the shiny, white tub, all evidence of the previous day's carnage scrubbed clean. "I'll wait outside," the footman mumbled uncomfortably.

Thomas emptied his bladder and staggered to the sink to wash his hands. The reflection in the glass shocked him. He was still very pale, and there were purple smudges beneath his eyes. He needed to shave but knew without being told that his razor had been confiscated. Perhaps Andy would assist him with that too.

He received a number of visitors that day beginning with Lady Mary and Master George. Thomas wondered if he should stand but wasn't sure it would be quite proper in his pajamas. The little boy handed him an orange to aid in his recovery, bringing a smile to the underbutler's face. At least he had one friend. Mary was very kind and appeared genuinely concerned. The mother and son left when Anna appeared with a breakfast tray.

Later Dr. Clarkson was shown upstairs, seeming pleased with the progress he was making. Miss Baxter and Anna dropped by frequently with little treats specially prepared by Mrs. Patmore and Daisy. Even Mr. Molesley looked in to ask if he needed anything. No one spoke to him about what happened, but everybody knew. The news of the attempted suicide had spread quickly downstairs, and the story of the flu promptly abandoned.

After dinner there was a quiet knock, and Bates entered, closing the door behind him. "How are you feeling?"

"A little better, I think," Thomas replied uneasily. He had been dreading this conversation all day.

The valet lowered himself into the chair by the bed. He didn't speak for several moments. "I'm sorry."

"What have you got to be sorry for?"

Bates struggled to put his feelings into words. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to catch you this time."

Barrow turned away, willing himself not to cry. "It would have been better if I'd died."

"Don't talk like that," the older man said sternly. "You've been given another chance. Make the most of it."

"It's too late. My life is ruined, and it's all my fault."

"You can change it."

"I've already tried that," Thomas replied bitterly.

Bates looked puzzled. "How do you mean?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

"No, I want to hear."

Thomas took a deep breath. "Last year I said I was going home to see my dying father, but really I went for a series of treatments that were supposed to—make me like other men."

"What sort of 'treatments?' " Bates asked suspiciously.

"Electroshock therapy."

"Dear God!" The valet looked horrified.

"I saw the ad in a magazine. It claimed they could turn someone like me into a ladies' man. I telephoned and was told to come straight away. They gave me the address of their clinic in London, and I trained up the next morning. When I arrived, I saw there were other men there too, other men like me. No one spoke or even looked up. We were too ashamed."

Bates listened in silence.

"I was desperate. Jimmy was gone, and I knew if I were to have any chance of happiness, I had to change what I was. When I got back to Downton, I continued the pills and injections they gave me, but they made me very ill. Finally, Miss Baxter took me around to see Dr. Clarkson."

A look of realization spread over Bates' face. "I remember now. So that's why you were looking so dreadful." He added softly, "But it didn't work, did it?"

"No, it didn't bloody work. It was all a waste of time and money. Go on. Have a good laugh at the pathetic queer who thought he could cure himself."

But John didn't laugh. Instead, he went on to relate how he had once purchased a "limp corrector" in a futile attempt to rid himself of his cane. The device did nothing but cause him excruciating pain which he was unable to hide. "Mrs. Hughes found out about it and made me throw the damned thing into the lake."

Thomas smiled faintly at that. "We're quite a pair, aren't we?"

Bates agreed. "We're not so different, you and I." He changed the subject. "Do you ever hear from Jimmy?"

"He wrote to me once. I answered, but I never heard back. It's probably for the best."

"Is there—anyone else?"

"No, and there never will be."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do," Thomas insisted.

Bates didn't argue the point. "So why did you do it?"

The younger man simply shrugged. "No one wants me, here or anywhere else it seems. Even Molesley got a job offer to teach at the school. _Molesley._ "

That was met with a little smile. "Was that the only reason, or was it the other thing too?"

"You mean the fact that I'll grow old and die alone?" Thomas replied sarcastically. "It seems I'm not even allowed to have a friend. Everyone here did their best to poison Andy against me."

"Not everyone. And you seem to be getting on now."

"Yes, and Mr. Carson all but accused me of buggering the lad. I told him there was nothing improper going on, but he didn't believe me. He still doesn't trust me after all these years."

"You've lied to him in the past."

"That was a long time ago. I've changed since then. Why can't he see that?"

"People have long memories," John declared sagely. "Maybe it's a good thing you're leaving. In a new house, you can begin again and make a fresh start."

"But this is my home," Thomas explained with a slight catch in his voice. "I've gotten used to everyone here, not that they'll be sorry to see me go."

"You're wrong about that. Everyone will miss you very much when you're gone—including me."

Thomas was astounded. "I should have thought you'd be happy to see the back of me. I've been a right bastard to you."

"Yes, you have, since the day I arrived. Why is that?"

They were finally getting down to it now. "I was His Lordship's valet until you came along and took my job."

"It was never your job. You were only filling in temporarily."

Thomas didn't reply.

Bates continued accusingly, "You tried to get me sacked for stealing, first with the snuffbox and then with the wine."

"I knew Mr. Carson would see the wine was missing, and I'd end up getting the blame."

"You _were_ to blame," John growled. "Why were you drinking so much anyway?"

"I wanted to forget," Thomas replied vaguely. It still hurt to think how casually the Duke had tossed him aside.

"But you kept it up, even after you were promoted to underbutler and outranked me." He couldn't manage to keep the resentment out of his voice. "Why?"

"I was jealous. You had everything, and I had nothing. Your life was so easy."

Bates shook his head in disbelief. " _Easy_ , you call it? I took a bullet in the leg in the South African war, and I'll never walk normally again. Before my time in Downton, I was convicted and jailed for theft. Then I was falsely imprisoned for the murder of my first wife, not to mention the whole Mr. Green business. What part of that sounds easy to you?"

"You have Anna and your life together."

"Anna is the one good thing that ever happened to me."

"I'm sorry I've been unkind to her. She doesn't deserve it," Barrow admitted.

"No, she doesn't."

"I told you I'm a bastard."

"Yes, but you're also the man who took a beating to spare Jimmy, the one who rescued Lady Edith from the fire, and the one who paid off Andy's gambling debts. I think I saw who you really were the night you tried to hang yourself."

"I don't want to talk about that night," Thomas interjected quickly. He was still embarrassed about breaking down in front of the valet.

"You're a better man than you know, Mr. Barrow, or you could be anyway."

Thomas was unsure how to respond to that. "Why, Mr. Bates, that almost sounds like a compliment."

"It wouldn't kill us to be a little nicer to each other."

The younger man nodded thoughtfully. "No, I don't suppose it would." He grinned. "I'm going to miss all the bickering, though."

Bates let out a little laugh.

"Does this mean we're going to be friends now?" Thomas asked tentatively.

"Do you want to be friends?"

"Only if you invite me to the cottage for dinner." He imagined being welcomed inside for once instead of always on the outside looking in.

Bates smiled. "We'll have you over as soon as you're back on your feet." He rose to leave. "Goodnight, Thomas."

"Goodnight—John."


End file.
